Chapter Three: Of Making Friends... Or at Least Making the Attempt
Being tackled by the Incredible Hulk hurt like hell the next day. When Morgan woke, he felt achy and exhausted, and little else aside from the excruciating pain of existing.
“I told you it was a bad idea,” Xaphan snickered.
“Fuck off,” Morgan grumbled in lame response as he pulled himself to his feet.
He didn’t want to do anything today. He didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to breathe—he didn’t particularly want to exist much, either. Unfortunately, he had a date with the psychiatrist, expedited by his so-called “need for rebellion.” Whatever the hell that meant.
“Shall I summarize the recent events?” Xaphan asked smugly as Morgan began trudging down the hall. “You chalked up the hostage situation as a mere teenage rebellion, and now you’re deliberately breaking curfew.”
“Once,” Morgan replied, dodging a nurse as he headed down the stairs. “I broke curfew once, because there was screaming.”
“I predict they think they’re dealing with an acute case of juvenile delinquency.”
“I predict you don’t know shit about psychology, anyway,” Morgan said, pausing at the landing. He cast a look toward the hall where he’d been caught last night. Whoever the guy was, his door was open now, and Morgan couldn’t see inside of it well enough to tell if anyone was home. He was probably just some nut job, anyway. These folks screamed bloody murder all the time, and for no apparent reason, at that.
Morgan sighed to himself and continued down the hall, headed toward the psychiatrist’s office. Still... as he walked, he couldn’t help but shoot another glance over his shoulder. There was something different about—
Morgan tumbled to the ground for the second time in twelve hours. Luckily, this time, he had something to break his fall: namely, another patient.
Another patient who happened to be extraordinarily familiar.
“Hey,” Morgan said, climbing off of the other male, “You’re the kid from last night.”
“Who…?”
“You—you were screaming, remember? I was outside your window. Come on, how often does that sort of thing happen? You don’t remember?”
“I—I should go…” Without another glance his way, the kid brushed past Morgan and slouched down the hall.
“Well, that was weird…” Morgan stared after him for a while. He wanted to follow and see just what was up with him, but if he didn’t show up to the appointment they’d scheduled for him, he’d appear even more “rebellious.” Man, did that ever irk him. Rebellious? As if this were simply a phase he was going through that made him act out in dramatic ways. It had nothing to do with rebellion and all to do with having Xaphan’s irritating fucking voice in his head.
“I don’t like him,” Xaphan commented eventually.
“Really? I think that means he’s my new best friend.”
“Hilarious.”
Morgan shrugged to himself. Xaphan didn’t like most people; his disapproval was rather ordinary. Even in Habersham, nothing had changed.
Give it time. That’s what his dad had always told his mom every time he did something awful. Whenever Morgan had another incident—whenever Xaphan had coerced him into doing something that wasn’t necessarily good—his dad had pleaded. Just give it time. Right, like Xaphan was going to just disappear one day. What were the odds of that, right?
“Not likely,” Xaphan sung as Morgan turned into the psychiatrist’s office. He had to bite back a response; even if the sham doctor already knew about the pleasure he apparently took in speaking to himself, Morgan didn’t plan on indulging the man just yet.
“Morgan Leicester,” the doctor, a balding man in his forties, greeted none too enthusiastically. Morgan was probably only seeing things, but he swore he saw a spark of insanity behind this man’s eyes. Who was supposed to be the crazy one in this room, anyway? “Please,” the crazy dude continued, “Take a seat.”
Morgan scowled at the chair he motioned to. “I’ll pass on that one, Doc. What’d you want to see me for?”
“I’ve heard… stories about you, Mr. Leicester. They aren’t flattering.”
Morgan tried on a half-hearted grin. “Haters gonna hate, sir. Is that all you wanted to see me over? A few rumors? Seems a waste of time.”
“Normally, it would be. However, with the… rumors… that are spreading of you, I thought perhaps it was due time we had our weekly chat.”
“Alright,” Morgan sighed, rolling his eyes, “Shoot. Whatcha got for me, Doc?”
“Why did you hold your chemistry class hostage?”
“I didn’t really hold them hostage. It wasn’t like I had a gun or a bomb or anything.”
“I was told you guarded the door with a knife and the fire extinguisher.”
“…well, yeah, but ‘hostage’ is really a bit of an exaggeration, isn’t it? I mean, I wasn’t, like, holding them for ransom, and I’m not a terrorist…”
“Then why don’t you tell me what your plan was.”
“What makes you think I had one?”
Ignoring Morgan’s response, the man continued to ask questions, almost as if interrogating his patient. “Who gave you the idea?”
“Saw it on TV once,” Morgan lied easily. “Are we done?”
“Do you have plans?” the man asked, a small smile on his face.
“Look, Doc, I mean, you’re great and all, but I don’t plan on spending the rest of my day here.” Morgan turned and started out the door.
“Who’s Xaphan?”
Morgan paused. To lie, or not to lie? Well, he’d surely be back eventually if the doctor wanted the truth enough. “I don’t have the slightest idea.” And with that, he made his leave.
Morgan guessed he could have said something more profound for his dramatic exit stage left, but it hadn’t occurred to him to prepare a monologue. He’d assumed the psychiatrist would do most of the talking; they always had in the past, at least. And when he had been allowed to talk, he’d spilled the beans about Xaphan.
At least it would be different this time. Things were changing. Even if he was stuck in this place, he’d prove to them sooner or later that he wasn’t really crazy. Hopefully sooner. He didn’t want to be here too long; this place was bizarre. And also full of crazy people who looked at him funny.
“Have you seen yourself lately?” Xaphan asked.
Morgan made a face. “What was up with you in the doc’s office? You could’ve thrown me a lifeline or something.”
“I live to serve you,” he drawled.
Shrugging, Morgan made his way to the recreation room. Normal, sane people socialized, and so that was what Morgan was going to do. He wasn’t sure with whom, or how, but he would. He had to prove to everyone that his being here was a huge mistake, that he really was sane, and that Xaphan wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
Upon reaching his destination, Morgan paused, his eyes scanning the room. Soon enough, they landed on a patient who was becoming more and more familiar. This time, though, Morgan had a second to give him a look-over, now that the guy wasn’t screaming or being knocked over.
He was blonde, and a little thinner than most. The white clothes nearly swallowed him whole. Bruises marred the amount of shoulders and upper arms that showed, and white, puffy scars seemed to lace the skin of his forearms together. He was quite obviously here for his self-inflicted injuries.
Besides the whole angsting teenager thing he had going, he seemed relatively sane, and that was better than anyone else in the room was doing. Other people were mumbling to themselves (as Morgan had to admit that he was wont to do most of the time) or staring off blankly into space, likely having received their medication not too long ago.
“Hi,” Morgan greeted. The other guy hardly even glanced his way. Well, that was a bummer. He didn’t seem to be making much progress with this guy. “I’m Morgan,” he attempted again. No response. Not even the slightest hint of acknowledgment. “So… do you always just stand here awkwardly and ignore people, or is it just me?” Still nothing. It was starting to look personal. “Look, I know you’ve got this whole antisocial thing really going for you, but I have to look as sane as possible…”
“You’re not good at it,” he finally mumbled.
Morgan wanted to rejoice in his success, but once he processed the words, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t know when to leave well enough alone.” And then the blonde pushed past him, the touch weak and yet somehow enough to make Morgan give, and left.
Morgan blinked after him. What was up with that kid?
“You honestly don’t know, do you?” Xaphan asked, sounding highly amused and smug.
“Know what?”
“You don’t!” he cackled. “Oh, this is brilliant. I don’t see how you don’t see it!”
“What…?”
“You should pay more attention during story-time, Morgan,” Xaphan tutted. “You might have learned something.”
“I don’t get it.”
“And I’ll ensure you never will,” Xaphan murmured before receding a little, enough for it to return to Morgan’s memory that he was standing in the middle of the rec room.
He sighed and plopped next to one of the younger crazy mumblers. He supposed he couldn’t judge if he were going to talk to himself, too. Besides, maybe they weren’t crazy, either. It was a possibility, right?
“Hey, I’m Morgan,” he greeted.
This was going to be a long day.
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